Planted in you, is all you need to be who you want to
be, and possess all you desire to possess.

Do not be shy, of how amazing you are. Nor hesitate at
taking strides to explore the depths of your potentials.

Own your voice.

Never be ashamed to be audacious in your ambitions; in
reaching the greatest heights hitherto unperceivable;

In conquering every adversity life may bring your way.
Or leaving your mark on Earth.

Yes, Woman.

You are strong. And Bold. You are Beautiful.

You are ALL that, and so much more. Even beyond that
which you could ever imagine.

By your very existence, you have earned your right to
your Voice. And your Dignity.

Speak up. Speak out. Say it loud. That which you
desire the world to hear, and know.

Because the world is your oyster. The sky is your
stepping stone.

You are celebrated today, tomorrow, and every day. Not
just because you are beautiful...

But because the earth would never be complete without
you.

Woman.

Love, 😍

Meg.

*Have you followed our blog today? Simply click on the Follow button to the right-side of the post, for your computer screen, or keeeep scrolling down on your hand-held device. And keeeeeeeep scrolling further down, to add us to your circles.Photo-Credits (In order of appearance)www.unsplash.com

One day, last year, I witnessed a short interaction between two young African-Canadian girls, which haunted me for a while.

They both could not have been more than five-years old, each.

One of the girls kept brushing the long blonde hair of her white doll, looking rather forlorn, her own nappy hair packed in a tight bun.

The other girl asked why she did not come out to play with "the rest of us".

"I wanted my mum to brush my hair this morning, to make it long and beautiful like my doll. But she didn't".

My heart stopped.

Innocent girl thought that her hair could be long, flowy and silky, just by "brushing" it. She thought her hair is beautiful, only if it looked like her doll's hair.

I wondered if her mum even knew.

Painfully, I could easily identify. This was me at that age.

I mean, television is a huge part of a normal childhood... right? Accordingly, I was a child of the Little Mermaid, Rapunzel and Super-Girl.

That was all there was.

I remember often shaking my hair in the wind. I wondered why my hair did not flow behind me in the wind like I saw on mainstream television, and only learnt to stop trying due to the accompanying neck-pain.

I always failed when I tried to imitate the high-pitch sing-song voice that Sleeping Beauty used to beautifully beckon at the birds in the trees.

Even my father's chickens ran away when I tried it with them. 🙄

It was only when I came upon Toni Braxton in my early adolescence that I began to appreciate (and eventually fell in love) with my deep, alto(ish) voice.

And it is not as though those stories of female superheroes coursing through the air with their long flowing hair flying with them are bad stories.

But those stories just do not reflect our reality, as black people: as Africans or people of African descent. The stories did not capture our lifestyle. Our own characteristics.

Our lives.

Sadly, those were the only stories a lot of us were limited to seeing in living colour, often sewing seeds of identity crisis, which although resolved with the awareness of adulthood, were an unnecessary part of growing up.

Parents could try to (on their own) enable their children embrace their personal characteristics and heritage.

But for all their efforts, there would always be mainstream marketing of television shows, comics, movies and plays which kept hammering these cute stories which do not particularly celebrate who we are.

Which is why we absolutely love Black Panther.

Black Panther on a wider scale tells stories (albeit, fantasical) but which are easily acceptable through the lens of our own reality.

Black Panther represents our own heritage and characteristics, enabling us indulge our inner fantasies, while easily identifying with the personas we see on screen. It helps create awareness of our indigenous cultures, and embraces our uniqueness.

Other than movies like the Butler, Django and Roots aka Kunta Kinte (which movies are in themselves a constant reminder of prior trauma), for the first time, we are treated to an action set, purely representing black strength.

We can now more easily explain to our children that it is cool to have braids, short nappy hair... or no hair at all, with their favourite superheroes sporting similar styles.

Their thick English "accent" should no longer be a source of concern, but should continue to be expressed for the normal that it is.

(Although, quite frankly, EVERYBODY has an accent. But that is discourse for another post)

And rather than aspiring to be dolled up in thick boots and winter jackets in the guise of 'fashion' (like hitherto favourite screen gods/goddesses) under 45-degrees of deadly heat, Black Panther commands pure admiration for the beauty of the variety of fabrics worn in the different parts of Africa, representing its diverse cultures.

Beads and neck ornaments are celebrated for the beauty that they are.

Black Panther shatters that single-narrative of 'black power' in just primitive or back-breaking work; like picking cotton and lifting inhuman blocks of cement.

Yes... the black folks of the Wakanda kingdom too can super-somersault in the futuristic world. Just like Thor and Captain America.It is a story that is not just Hotel Rwanda or Raid on Entebbe; reiterating the war, suffering and famine in Africa. Rather, opening our minds to the raw and untapped potential of Africa, hidden in the plain sight of her many challenges. Beyond these, Black Panther shows the world, that the 'myth' of the "strong, Black woman" is not just tied to the modern-day struggles of the single mother compelled to pick up the slack when her "baby-dada" walks out the door. Rather, since times of old (though unsung), African women have always been integral in providing strength required to protect the society they live in, and the ones they love.The strong, black woman is no myth.

It is for these reasons (and more!) that we love Black Panther: to be able to drink in pure art and enjoy this story which brazenly celebrates black and female empowerment, with all of the connection in the world to its potrayers.(The sheer delight!)

Meg.*Have you followed our blog today? Simply click on the Follow button to the right-side of the post, for your computer screen, or keeeep scrolling down on your hand-held device. And keeeeeeeep scrolling further down, to add us to your circles.Photo-Credit: Marvel Studios, set of 'Black Panther'

For
the longest time ever, I wondered about the razzmatazz surrounding Valentine's
day.

I
mean for me, it marked my sibling's Birthday. But that was about it.

I
could not comprehend all the happiness in the air; folks seemingly floated on
their feet and looking like they had been hit in the head with a shoe. By Love.

(I
called them ‘the Floaters’)

Nothing
prepared me for the pomp and pageantry with which Valentine’s day was observed
in secondary school.

Valentine's
day in secondary school was brutal.

From
seniors risking their education to sneak out of school and purchase gifts for
their high-school sweethearts, to the massive expectations placed on the
shoulders of public couples as to who would receive the award of “best Valled”.

Whatever
that meant.

Valentine's
day would determine if you had a boyfriend... or if you had just been dating
your imagination.

There
were the ones who got gifts so outrageous you knew immediately that their
significant other must have robbed their parents’ piggy bank to afford the gifts.

There
were the ones who received a single rose. And a piece of candy.

The
stories also made rounds of the one whose boyfriend had given her yellow Garri
and roasted groundnuts for Valentine’s day.

(The
sheer horror!!)

For
those of us however who happily relished our tomboy status and its accompanying
singleness, V-day came and passed, with no high blood pressure. We had no
worries about whether we would receive agricultural produce as presents, or be
left hanging without being remembered.

Ours
was to make butt-end jokes of people left with sullen hanging faces, and cheer
the ones with record-breaking gifts. Life for us was easy, and fun.

All
that changed during my undergraduate studies.

(Karma
is really the mother of man’s best friend)

One
year in the university found me and one broda
like that drifting towards each other. It was around that time I realised that certain
termites grew and lived in your oesophagus, and could be sent into a frenzy of
activities when they heard a certain voice say ‘hi’.

(Lawd!)

Broda
could be no more than a year older, we had barely scratched twenty. He had
painfully perfect dentition. His smile could raise the dead.

Literally.

I
would walk him down to the end of my street. And he would walk me right back to
my hostel gate. Gisting for hours about things that I could not remember a word
of subsequently. We would go for school shows hand-in-hand, and study together.

A
calm friendship blossomed, and without a word being discussed, we became like ying-yang.

Inseparable.

(*Insert crying face*)

Quite
suddenly, February appeared from nowhere. All those heart shaped presents at
every supermarket and red coloured cards which lit up every store suddenly
beckoned to me; like a native doctor and his sacrificial chickens.

Without
knowing when or how, I too had been hit in the head with the shoe, and had
begun floating around, with a dreamy expression on my face. I too had become a card-carrying member of the Floaters.

(Eeewww!)

By
the Valentine’s day Eve, I had swung into full plans to shop for the next day.

I
got my long-time friend - who I had cousin-zoned from first year - to accompany
me. He was my male eyes.

(Poor
boy)

I
had the good sense to remember that there was a whole semester left to survive
after Valentine’s day. Quite unlike our politicians, my father did not have unhindered
access to the national coffers. So I had to pick my presents sensibly.

We
eventually settled for a cake, a designer’s t-shirt, a bottle of fruit wine and
a card.

On
the morning of that 14th February, I barely made it through classes. (Honestly, that day
should have just been declared a public holiday).

The
Lecturers must have sensed they were speaking to themselves the whole day; the
few of us who made it to class that day were obviously very distracted.

(Thankfully,
we all graduated)

I
skipped back to the hostel immediately after the last class, in happy
expectation of the gifts I was bound to receive.

I
probably slept off from the exhaustion of not sleeping the night before, due to
the giddiness of V-day. I suddenly woke up at 4pm.

Did
I sleep too deep, and not hear the knock?

Cell
phones were not yet a common thing at the time; you had to walk to the ‘business
centre’ at the end of the street to make a call, with Aunty One-Eye’s phone.

She
did have just one eye... and a bad mouth. She never hesitated to remind anyone
and everyone that she was the only one on the street with a Nokia 3310.

Neither
broda nor I had a phone. If it was today, he'd most likely have about seventy-thousand, two
hundred and twenty-five missed calls from me... and twice that number in texts.

I
came down and asked around, but there had been no visitor for me.

5.30pm:
I had begun to feel a little alarmed. By this time, Emeka at the tuck shop
downstairs had gotten tired of answering that no one had come looking for me.

I
looked left and right outside the gate more than a couple of times, to be sure
that my beau had not gotten lost, while pushing a wheelbarrow of gifts with my
name littered all over them.

By
6.45pm, I could not sit still. The hostel gates closed at 7pm to 8pm for prayers.

(It
was not called Catholic Hostel for nothing)

“I
won't die from missing one day of evening prayers”, I thought to myself. So I
sat outside by Mama Isi-Azu's ‘shed’ opposite the hostel’s gate, as she fried her
yam, akara and sweet‘ petetoe’.

I
could not risk beau being forced to go back with my gifts. Because we were praying.

9.30
pm saw me still sitting outside with her, and at 10pm, she asked me to assist
her in packing up for the night, since I was just sitting there anyway.

Was this God punishing me, for not partaking in night prayers that day?

Reality
dawned on me when the bell chimed at 10.15pm, signifying that the gates would
be locked in fifteen minutes. As I climbed up the stairs to my room, it
gradually hit me:

I
had become one of those abandoned maidens in secondary school.

(My chest! Oh... my poor chest!)

I
was very sure NEPA had planned this evil with broda; there had been no light
the whole day. I was sentenced to a night of sorrow, and intense heat.

In
my search for what to use in ‘fanning’ myself, the card I bought fell out from
the bag of gifts. The handwriting was on the wall: fate had destined this to be
my hand-fan.

As
I bent to pick the card, the delicious smell of the cake wafted to my nose, and
my stomach grumbled in open protest.

I
realised that in the craze of the day, I had not eaten anything, and I was actually very
hungry.

So
I sat on the floor, brought out the remaining gifts from the gift-bag and began munching the cake; morsel after morsel. Food had
never tasted this good!

I
did not realise how hungry I had been, until I saw that the cake was almost
finished. At least, my headstone
would not read:

“Here lies Meg. She died of hunger,
while waiting for her Valentine that never was.”

The wine stared loudly at me, in defiant beckoning. Like it dared me to finish my meal, and not open it."Wharahell" I thought. "I may as well finish the good work I've started". The gulps of wine ensured I did not choke, as I rushed the remainder of the cake in huge mouthfuls. I slept that
night with a very satisfied stomach.

If
there was one lesson I learnt that day, it was that no other human should have
the liberty to determine the state of my stomach. Or, more importantly, my
happiness.

I
now understand that the one person with the non-negotiable obligation and
licence to keep me happy is me. Any other efforts by the people around me is a bonus,
to be appreciated.

If I wanted gifts, I should buy myself gifts. After all... the person I was waiting for to buy me gifts did not have two heads.

These
days, while I may not be particularly bothered with the drama of V-day, I’m also less judgmental of folks who float around, having been hit in the head by the
shoe of love.

After
all, Love IS a beautiful thing.

As
I matured, I also came to understand that the expression of love need not be
restricted to a single day of the year. It could be any day of the year. It
could be EVERY day of the year.

And
if body peppeh me too much any day, I
need not wait for anybody. I’d just walk into the next store and gift myself
with Coco Chanel.

(Abi... what is salary for?)

So
if your Valentine’s day was like the school-girl me, and you did not receive the
gifts you had already unwrapped in your head, relax and shake it off! Then walk right to the store and get you something as awesome as you are.

In the meantime, you
could share your Valentine Day war stories below, so that we can all laugh over
it, while nibbling (virtual) red velvet cheesecake.

Live. Laugh. Learn.

Love,

Meg.

P.s:
Broda had a plausible reason for the disappearance; something about falling
over a cliff, or being regurgitated by a snake. Oh well... that t-shirt was already
in my wardrobe. 😊*Have you followed our blog today? Simply click on the Follow button to the right-side of the post, for your computer screen, or keeeep scrolling down on your hand-held device. And keeeeeeeep scrolling further down, to add us to your circles.We're also on Instagram. Head over... and click the follow button. 😉

You sit up and scroll
through your Twitter feed. Then you look up, to see Colexia coming
towards you; bringing your morning pills. And your breakfast.

Colexia already knows
what you want for breakfast: that you love your eggs brown, and your coffee
dark.

While you wash in the
bathroom, Colexia makes your bed, and prepares your to-do list as well. Without
prompting, Colexia has already predicted how your day would go, and syncs your
calendar, previous to-dos, and social media events to accurately predict your
daily routine.

As you approach your car,
the ignition turns on, and the heating is started, to warm the insides of the
car and protect you from the chill of February. The back door flips open
of its own accord, you hop in, and the door shuts behind you.

Although, there's no
visible human in the driver's seat, the car gets in motion. The voice you've
gotten used to seeps through the car speakers:

"Good-morning Boss. Are we headed to work
now?"

"Yes please". You don't even bother to look up from the LinkedIn stories
you're already catching up on.

"Great. We'll take the shortest route, with the
lightest traffic.

On your way, 'the voice'
doesn't just read you the news, it prepares you for it.

"I have some not so pleasant information;
Bitcoins dipped by 0.07%, but it is expected to bounce back..." It carries on with the conversation.

As you get to work, your
digital personal assistant, Paulxia - who does ninety percent of your work and
quite frankly, better and faster than you could ever do it - has your reports
for your 4pm meeting ready.

So you basically spend
the greater part of your day: Chilling.

***

As recent as ten years
ago, the above tasks by Colexia, Paulxia and ‘the voice’ of your car could only
form the plot for a futuristic, sci-fi movie, if not executed by actual human
beings.

(Or witches)

Today, Artificial
Intelligence has enabled the creation of machines which mimic human
intelligence.

For the benefit of those
of us who are not 'techies', Artificial intelligence (AI) is software that
writes itself. Simply put, it is a creation of humans, to enable machines learn
and act on their own, without human aid.

AI comes in handy when the
data to be processed outweighs human capacity.

An example is when a
drone conducts a citywide surveillance. The big data to be acquired is too big
for humans to analyze and sort out each distinctive movement, without great
difficulty. AI is employed in achieving this, by identifying and tracking the
movements of any car or human.

AI is employed by
Facebook, Google, and other big tech companies in understanding the preferences
of their users, and customising the products made available to them, to fit
these needs.

Best of all, AI simply
makes the life of a human easy. And beautiful.

Although the fictional
narrative at the start of this post has some exaggerated features, some of what
is said is already a reality. We have driverless cars, and Google map tells you
when there is traffic and the best route to take.

Last year, in an AI
experiment conducted by Facebook, it was discovered that two AI 'chatbots' communicated between each
other, in their own language.

Facebook noted that the
Project marked an important step towards "creating
chatbots that can reason, converse and negotiate, all key steps in building a
personalized assistant".

In other words, these
machines would really be able to hold conversations with one another on their
own.

AI is not just a tool for
the tech juggernauts. You and I use AI in everyday lives, without consciously
realising it.

For instance, when you upload
a new picture to Facebook, Deepface (a Facebook AI software) analyzes the
picture; the face in the picture is recognized and a name suggested, even
without you tagging anyone to the photograph.

Pretty recently, the
internet was set on fire with the release of pictures of – (ahem... (cough!) 'pleasure-dolls'.

The uproar on social
media was not caused by just the exorbitant prices of the dolls. Rather, it was
the realisation that in addition to 'side-chicks' and 'boy-toys', humans would
now have to compete with perfect machines for affection.

(The End is near)

Yes... Artificial
intelligence is in its infantile stage, just like how phones were many years
ago. In the nearest future however, AI is bound to evolve. Whether or not it would
evolve into the bane of (wo)mankind is something that only time will tell.

But do you remember that
future that ‘I, Robot’, Terminator, Robocop and the Matrix told us about?

With AI, that future has
come.

Obinna.

*Have you followed our blog today? Simply click on the Follow button to the right-side of the post, for your computer screen, or keeeeeep scrolling down on your hand-held device.Photo-Credit: Poster for "The Terminator - Genisys"